


Taking the Nine in Vain

by baratron



Series: Martin Septim/Alix de Feu [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, M/M, Realistic, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baratron/pseuds/baratron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emperor Martin Septim/Hero of Kvatch, explicit. A sequel to "Guardian of His Dreams", but in this Alix de Feu has a gender. A very definite gender. </p><p>An attempt at writing porn without plot, which failed due to too much plot. Can be enjoyed without knowledge of Oblivion, but contains spoilers and foreshadowing for the end of the main quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking the Nine in Vain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hekateras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekateras/gifts).



When I returned to Cloud Ruler Temple, Martin was waiting for me. As usual, he was sitting at what had become "his" table, in the Great Hall, with an ever-increasing collection of books. But unlike usual, he was barely concentrating on what he was reading. One hand tugged at his thick brown hair, while the other tapped impatiently against the wooden table top, in some sort of rhythmic pattern. He sighed at the reference tome in front of him, and his eyes darted around the room in boredom. Thus he saw me as soon as I entered, shaking the snow off my cloak, and lugging a large sack. His entire face lit up with delight.

"You're back!" he exclaimed. "Did you get the artifact?"

"Of course," I nodded. "Have I ever let you down?"

"Well, _no_ , my friend. But sometimes things go wrong despite our best intentions. You might have become lost, or hurt, or...". He stopped himself, and instead turned his attention to the sack, which I was able to carry only thanks to my strongest Fortify Strength and Feather spells. "May I see it?"

"Help me lay it out on the table," I commanded him. He chuckled under his breath, a combination of sheer relief at my safe return, _and_ because I was the only person who would dare issue orders to the would-be Emperor of Tamriel. Admittedly, Jauffre tried to give him orders too, but he would couch them in delicate terms, as suggestions. Always a diplomat... I, on the other hand, would simply _tell_ Martin what I wanted him to do; which had recently gained me more than I'd ever dreamed of having, in the form of blissful nights with the most attractive man I'd ever met. 

( _Obviously_ I cared about the Empire, and wanted its Emperor to be crowned as soon as possible. Why else would I let him constantly send me away from his side, to acquire the priceless trophies that we needed to perform the ritual, and recover the Amulet of Kings? But the truth was that Martin the man - ex-mage turned priest of Akatosh - was far more important to me than Martin Septim, illegitimate son of Emperor Uriel. His parentage felt irrelevant, so I treated him accordingly: the only person to use his name instead of a title. Apparently he appreciated this, since he was always begging the Blades to do the same. However, it seemed that they could not overcome their trained deference to the role, even when the man occupying it implored them to.) 

We emptied the sack carefully. Martin stared at the ancient cuirass as it lay on the table. His finger traced the gilt design, reverentially. "The Armour of Tiber Septim himself!"

Of course, we knew that the line of descent was broken several times, when the crown had passed to nephews or cousins instead of offspring. Nonetheless, we were both overwhelmed by emotion at this tangible connection between Martin and his legendary predecessor. The armour stood as proof that the god Talos had once been an ordinary man. I saw Martin wiping tears away from his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. 

I wondered anew how similar the two Septims would prove to be. Was Tiber Septim, the great war chief, a powerful mage able to protect himself against the forces of evil? The history books were unclear on this. Would Martin Septim's intervention against Oblivion be so mighty that the gods themselves would take him up as a Tenth Divine? Only time would tell. 

Martin must have been having similar thoughts. "The Septim blood may flow through my veins, but you have the soul of a hero," he pronounced, looking up at me and smiling. I gazed into his wide blue eyes for what seemed like minutes, feeling myself slowly drowning in desire. The _charisma_ of the man! If I hadn't rescued Martin while he was still reeling from the disaster at Kvatch, I'd have thought he could cast Charm spells that would last days. As it was, it seemed to be some sort of Septim ability, to go with the prophetic dreams and ability to wear the Amulet. Voice of the Emperor? Hmm. 

He broke the moment, grudgingly. "Jauffre will be amazed to see it. You can reassure Jauffre that I will not destroy the armour. All I need is a scraping of Talos's divine blood. The Blades are as touchy as priests about relics of Tiber Septim, it seems!"

"Are you surprised?" I asked him. "With the connection between the Blades and the royal family, half of them _become_ priests of Talos when they retire!"

He laughed openly, a rare sound during that time of crisis, and one that I valued; doubly so, since I'd caused it myself. Catching my shoulder, he whispered directly into my ear. "After you've been to see Jauffre, go and have a bath. Wash yourself _very_ thoroughly. I have... plans for you, later." His guileless eyes shimmered for a moment with the untold debauchery known only to followers of Sanguine. I gasped, stepped back, and went in search of the Grandmaster of the Blades.

* * *

Have you ever sat at a formal dinner next to the person you care for most in the world, knowing that as soon as the meal ends, you're going to run away to make wild, passionate love? Have you ever sat there, eating one-handed, while under the table your spare hands join together and squeeze, and your partner's foot rubs joyfully over yours? 

Now imagine yourself in the middle of a long table, surrounded by soldiers liege-sworn to your lover, all desperate to speak to him and gain a token of his regard. Bowing to him, calling him "my lord", pleading for attention – when all you want is for the two of you to be the only people in that room? 

It's hard to share the one you love with so many others. Harder still to share him with an entire continent. But I was certain that was what I'd have to get used to after his coronation. I wondered how Martin felt about it. In retrospect, I should have noticed that whenever any of us referred to him as "the Emperor", there being no other possible heir, he would reply saying "I am not Emperor yet". I'd thought he was only being diffident. I wish I'd known then the _exact_ content of his dreams.

* * *

Martin and I raced each other up the stairs. Since our first, gentle, love-making, we had become more and more ambitious. His past as a daedra worshipper, which he was so embarrassed about, had taught him an awful lot about how to please a man. Given how much stress he was under, I had no plans to precipitate a breakdown by pointing out where his knowledge had come from. I'd already had to talk him down several times when the guilt he was living with had become too much. 

It helped that no one in Cloud Ruler Temple gave two hoots about the fact the heir to the throne was bedding a man. 

I'd expected it to be a problem. Not hugely familiar with the laws of Cyrodiil, I knew only that it was not a good idea to be a man who preferred men in High Rock. That was mostly why I'd left my home province to study at Arcane University. The fact that homosexual behaviour was tolerated at the university told me nothing, since mages have always been much more concerned about rules preventing the use of dangerous magic than the laws of the land. I had a vague idea that the Blades regarded our liaison as some sort of comfort to keep Martin sane under enormous pressure, rather than a serious love affair. I knew that once he was crowned, he would be expected to marry and produce children – his own illegitimacy making an early marriage to a woman of noble birth essential. 

I didn't think about what would happen to me then. The twist of pain inside my belly whenever I tried was worse than the coldest knife, worse than being clawed apart by dremora (a sensation I was becoming increasingly familiar with). I was positive that we would remain friends – close friends - but I had no idea what else I could hope for. I only knew that I loved him more than anyone else I'd ever been with. Even now, twenty years later, no one else has ever lived up to his memory. When I wake up in the morning, it's still Martin that I expect to be next to – and the empty bed is like an accusation: an admission of my failure to keep him.

* * *

Martin had me lying on my front, a pillow under my belly, arse in the air. He'd already given me the most delicious massage with a scented oil, which had relaxed all my muscles, yet turned my cock hard. I wasn't sure how that was possible, except that just being near him made my cock twitch with excitement. 

His hands ran down my back in parallel – first softly, then his fingernails dug in. I groaned. "Gods!".

Martin sniggered. "Is there a reason you're taking the Nine in vain?". As he leaned forward to kiss the back of my neck, I could feel his own erection pressing into my arse. 

"Yes, and you know perfectly well what it is, _Emperor_ Martin Septim!"

He laughed again, hands continuing their heavenly descent of my back; before his tongue flicked out, and licked a strip of flesh down the very centre of my spine. I moaned and thrashed at the sensation. "Damn you, Martin! Stop teasing me!".

"Okay..." he agreed, moving down the bed to kneel between my legs. His hands stroked down further, and split, one moving onto each of my buttocks. He pulled my cheeks apart, and his damned, maddening tongue licked further down, and circled around my hole. I could do nothing but groan his name – the way the aggravating man was holding me down and himself out of the way, I could only feebly flap at him with my hands; which was no use at all. Eventually, by the time I was cursing him and all the gods individually by name, his tongue slipped inside. The sensation hit all my pleasure centres, and I thrust my hips forward, so my cock rubbed against the pillow. 

Slowly, but surely, he moved his tongue in and out; the wet muscle reminding me that there were other parts of his body that were stronger and more suited for the job. I reached around the best I could and pulled his head closer to me, trying to push more of his tongue inside. He giggled, and blew a raspberry on my arse cheek. After – I don't know, minutes? hours? - of the worst kind of teasing, I was reduced to whining. "Martin! Martin, gods, please... stop messing about and fuck me."

Suddenly he was very serious. His tongue wriggled free, and he kissed each of my buttocks in turn. _Reverentially_ , I thought – which reminded me of the way he'd touched the armour of Tiber Septim earlier. He sat upright, taking a sip from a goblet of red wine that was on the bedside table. _Red wine_ , I thought. _Sanguine..._

"Alix, my love?" he asked, crawling up the bed to spoon with me. "Have you ever done this before?"

I turned to face him, and saw that he was hiding his face behind his curtain of hair. The skin I could see was blushing, which was absolutely adorable. 

"Yes," I replied, "But not for a while. You'll need to go slowly."

He nodded, and kissed my head, moving my long hair out of the way to nip affectionately at the back of my neck. Although he'd never explicitly told me, he was oddly attracted to my neck, burying his nose in the soft hair there whenever he could. He reached for a bottle of oil on the bedside table – not the perfumed oil from earlier, but a different version, plainer. Less likely to cause irritation, I supposed. _Someone_ had been anticipating this encounter. 

"Alix..." he said, hesitantly. "You _will_ tell me if I hurt you?"

" _Yes_ , love." Martin's youthful experiences as an acolyte of "Uncle" Sanguine had given him some serious consent issues. To me, they seemed more like a fetish, given that he couldn't even enjoy himself unless he knew I was happy. There's nothing quite like worshipping the Daedric Prince of hedonism to mess with a person's mind. The Empire was lucky he was still functional at all. 

Nodding again, he planted a row of kisses down my back, and tipped oil onto two of his fingers. Rubbing slowly in rings around my dampened hole, he massaged the tight anal muscle. I could actually feel my hole opening up and loosening under his ministrations. Once I felt like I was gaping, he applied a bit more oil, and gently pushed the tip of his first finger inside. I yelped.

"My love?" Martin sounded very uncertain. "Was that pain or pleasure?"

"Both," I stated. "Honestly, both. Give me a minute." I forced myself to relax, trying to bend my anal sphincter to my will. I've never understood how it's so easy to get my own fingers inside, but so hard to use someone else's. Something to do with nerves, I suppose. 

After breathing deeply for a while, I told him to continue. His left hand rubbed soothing circles at the base of my spine, while his right index finger plunged slightly further inside. I moaned, and whimpered, as he slowly pushed his whole finger into me. 

Now, over the years, I've read a lot of erotic fiction which seems to imply that when your lover coerces a well-lubricated finger into your arse, it will burn a little, but after only a short time you can push in another, and scissor them to make space for your partner's cock. I can only assume that other men are built differently, since that's really not how it works with me. Preparation for buggery goes extremely slowly, and is a form of exquisite torture. Many minutes. Lots of oil. And the scissoring thing has never worked – I'm far too tight for even the strongest man's fingers to push my walls apart.

Instead, Martin left his finger in my asshole, the rest of his hand tenderly kneading my buttock. He lightly moved the tip forwards, and I howled as he hit my prostate. I swore by all the gods, especially Akatosh, that he had better keep doing what he was doing or there would be trouble. I may have threatened to draw my sword on him if he stopped, and I didn't mean it as a _double entendre_. My actual shortsword made of silver that I used for killing daedra, and never mind if the Blades tried to stop me – _they_ weren't the ones being tortured. He fingered me, hitting that nub over and over, loosening up my passage. 

When I was about ready to scream, he withdrew his hand – which made me twist round and yell at him, before I realised he was applying more oil. Oh. This time he massaged two fingers around my hole, as I gasped and swore. Eventually the muscle became loose enough for him to be able to push the tips of both fingers in. I groaned, shouted, cursed, and swore, as his clever fingers pressed inside me. My cock felt as hard as it had ever been. I was half-surprised that I hadn't already exploded into the pillow. 

Martin, the louche _bastard_ that he was, reached for his goblet of wine with the hand that wasn't busy impaling me. "Gods," I mumbled, "The least you could do is let me have some." He laughed, and tipped some wine into my mouth. I drank it, thirstily. All this panting and yelling was making my throat awfully dry. I wondered vaguely what Martin's bodyguards outside the door were thinking. To Oblivion with them, if they were rude enough to listen. 

"Martin?" I begged. "Kiss me, please?"

He put the goblet down, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling my head towards his. I turned my head, and saw how aroused he really was. His lips were parted, and his eyes burned as if he was feverish. His thick brown hair hung in curtains around his flushed face. I reached behind myself, grabbed hold of his cock, and gave it a couple of tugs. That got _him_ calling out to Akatosh. I felt like an obscene daedra worshipper myself, suddenly seeing the attraction of "corrupting" a priest: even though the vows of chastity he'd made had been for himself, rather than his religion. 

Our mouths met, and I pushed my tongue between his lips as he gasped. His eyes rolled in supplication, utterly wanton. "Brace yourself carefully," I whispered, and while he continued to finger me with his right hand, I grabbed hold of his left, and lifted it to my mouth. I sucked a pair of fingers into my mouth – coincidentally, the twins of the two in my arse – licking the tips under his fingernails, lapping at the delicate webbing between them. Martin groaned and said, very clearly, "Fuck". 

When I released his hand, he dropped it onto the mattress, clearly needing it for extra balance. "Alix?" he moaned, "Can I fuck you? I need to fuck you."

"My love, that's the rudest thing you've ever said to me. Of course you can."

Martin lifted my hair and kissed my neck again, slowly removing his fingers from my hole. He brushed his hands over my shoulders, before reaching round and catching my nipples between his fingertips. He tugged on them, making me call him names that just left him cackling under his breath. 

Then he reached for the bottle of oil again. I turned round to watch. He poured oil onto his already-sticky right hand, and rubbed it all over his cock. His fingers gently probed my hole again, and found it ready and waiting. Wrapping both arms around my body for support, he lay down and thrust inside me. I thought I would come on the spot. By some miracle I didn't. 

Martin let out a long, shuddering sigh. "By the Nine, you're tight." 

"And just think, love – that's _after_ you've already fucked me with your fingers for I don't know how long."

He lay very still on top of me for a moment, fighting to control his breath. I felt his cock twitching wildly, and wondered how much stimulation he'd need to reach orgasm. Not very much, from the feel of it. He'd been playing head games, and clearly got off on them at least as well as he did from physical provocation. It somehow seemed appropriate for his new position in life. 

Martin sighed again, and began to move inside me: in, out, in, out, in a regular rhythm. He muttered swearwords that I didn't even know he knew. His fingernails raked down my back, leaving a white trail on the skin as they passed. They dug into my arse, leaving claw marks on my buttocks. His fingers grabbed my nipples again. He bit my neck vampirically – I wasn't even sure if he was aware that he'd done it. 

Gods, I thought, if the people of Tamriel could see their Emperor _now_! He must have been combining the worship practises of Dibella with those of Sanguine, and... Sheogorath, since he seemed determined to drive me insane. He was moaning his god's name and my name together, like a prayer. I reached behind me and stuck my own sharp fingernails into his buttocks. He responded by moving more erratically, clearly very close.

"Touch yourself," the Emperor begged, so I stroked the most sensitive part of my penis, right under the head, and came... everywhere. As I did so, I felt my muscles ripple and clench, and that was the only extra stimulus Martin needed for his own orgasm. He came violently, and collapsed on top of me, breathing raggedly.

* * *

After a couple of minutes, I asked, "Love?"

"Hmm?". My lover was still lying in a languid heap, squashing me into the mattress.

"Is there any chance we could move, because I'm lying right in the wet patch?"

"Oh gods! I'm so sorry!". He crawled off me, allowing me to deftly roll into a dry part of the bed. I wondered if _that_ was the reason why the Emperor's bed was so large. Several former rulers of Tamriel had been famous for their randiness. 

Martin returned with a towel, and the rest of the bottle of wine. He handed me the towel, suddenly shy, and he peered at me, blue eyes visible through the mop of brown hair. He seemed too embarrassed to speak, taking a big gulp of the wine rather than saying anything.

"Martin? Are you all right?" I reached out for him. 

"I..." He was blushing again. "Everything's fine. More than fine. I love you, Alix." 

I grinned. "I love you, too. More than words can say."

"It's just... I've never done that with someone I actually cared about before. I... want to keep doing it, over and over, for the rest of my life." Bright red. I'd never seen him look so awkward. I hated that there was so much trauma in his past that even something wonderful like making love could upset him. 

But because I was jealous, I muttered, "What of your need to produce an heir?"

Martin chuckled. "I worked that out long ago. Perhaps I can find a noblewoman who loves women and wants children, and her partner could become your official consort?". He looked up at me, eyes wide with mischief.

I answered in kind. "You _do_ know I like women as well?"

"All the better! Then we'll find two noblewomen who love both men and women and all go to bed together. I promise you that it will still not be the most outrageous thing that any Emperor of Tamriel has done. I've had some fairly notorious predecessors, after all."

Laughing, I pulled him down for another kiss before we fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is probably the first thing I've ever written that isn't hurt/comfort. I am still shocked. 
> 
> Dedicated to the anonymous author of "History Lessons" on the Skyrim Kink Meme – for the idea of *ten*, which is still making me squeal with delight a week later; and to Hekateras, the author of "Trial by Fire" – for the idea of Martin's charisma being like a Charm spell. I hope neither of you hate slash.
> 
> Many thanks to my Men Who Have Sex With Men team: Grant, Ryan, and Elliot, for answering embarrassing questions. Thanks to Deandra for reading the first draft of this and providing helpful comments.
> 
> In Nirn, they have spells and potions of Cure Disease. Real life needs safer sex.


End file.
